


Home is Where the Heart Is

by The Thinking Woman (The_Thinking_Woman)



Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-20
Updated: 2013-03-20
Packaged: 2017-12-05 20:59:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/727868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Thinking_Woman/pseuds/The%20Thinking%20Woman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five years down the line, Richard reflects on how his life has changed since that first, reluctant trip to Saint Marie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home is Where the Heart Is

**Author's Note:**

> This was another mostly-written fic that's been lying around on my computer, so I thought I'd tidy it up a bit and post it. I've spent the last hour or so editing it, but it's silly o'clock in the morning again (why do I always do these things late at night?), so if you spot anything horrific, do let me know! 
> 
> Also, very many thanks for the lovely comments and kudos left on "A Not-So-Deadly Storm" - they make me very happy :)
> 
> Hope you enjoy this one too.

The sun had barely appeared over the horizon as Richard stepped out onto the veranda, where he could make the most of the cool breeze. The early morning was still his favourite time of day: he could stare out across the glittering Caribbean sea and watch the sun rise before its rays became too scorching, and he enjoyed the blissful hours of peace and quiet before he had to go to work. Distracted by a brief movement, he gazed down at the tiny creature resting in the crook of his arm. He smiled to himself as he recalled how seriously he'd taken his caring responsibilities all that time ago when he'd realised Harry wasn't going to go away. He was certain the team would have laughed at him had they known how attached he'd become to the lizard, but then he'd never been able to abandon anyone who needed help - even if on occasion it was to his own detriment. Besides, it was nice to feel needed back in the days when all around him were desperately wishing he would just go home.

It seemed a lifetime since he'd arrived on the island, though it had in fact been only five years. Feeling philosophical, he pondered the point that the life he'd left behind _was_ a different lifetime. The Richard Poole who had left London so reluctantly half a decade ago barely existed in any recognisable form. It hadn't been an easy transition - he was and always would be the first to remind anyone of that - but he no longer harboured such a desperate urge to get back to the greyness and the gloom of the city he'd left behind. He was under no illusions that he would ever completely fit in around here, but then when had he ever fit in anywhere? No, it had been his routines, his safe-havens, his home-comforts that he had missed, not the place itself, and certainly not the people. The tea, most definitely, but not the people. And now that Catherine was getting reasonably good at consistently making decent tea, since he'd educated her on the evils of UHT milk, even that wasn't as much of a problem as it had once been. 

London had always been his home, and he supposed that, as long as his parents were still alive, it always would be, but then a person could have more than one home, couldn't they? Home was where the heart was, so they said, and a large part of his heart very definitely belonged in Saint Marie. He was finally getting used to the climate, and - much to everyone's amusement - had even begun to dress accordingly. Goodness, he couldn't even remember the last time he'd worn a suit jacket, and all of his shirts had short sleeves now. Sometimes, if it was _really_ hot, he even went to work without a tie! His job was much the same as it had always been since he'd arrived on the island, though fortunately the murder rate had declined somewhat over the last couple of years. Quietly, he liked to believe that this was due to his fearsome reputation as a detective: there would be no getting away with murder on _his_ watch, thank you very much. 

Richard's relationships with his colleagues had improved immeasurably, and he had for a long time now considered them not only workmates, but friends. Close friends, at that. For the first time in his life, he had people who not only tolerated him, but actually seemed to like him; people he trusted. Though he could never be considered a social butterfly, Richard no longer routinely declined Dwayne and Fidel's invitations to join them at the bar after a hard day's police work. And now that he had a bigger house - a necessity since he'd bitten the bullet and decided to stay permanently (though he'd been sorry to leave the bungalow) - he had even been known to _host_ the odd social event.

It was true that he missed working with Camille - she'd been away from the office for nearly 3 months now, and it wasn't the same without her there to bounce ideas off - but he was certain she wouldn't be able to stay away forever, and the team would, one day, be complete again. All in all, he had to admit that life on Saint Marie was treating him pretty well.

He had been so deep in thought that he didn't hear the quiet footsteps behind him, so he started slightly when he felt a slender arm snaking around his waist. Smiling into her hair, he kissed the top of Camille's head as she leant against his shoulder. Her free hand came up and gently stroked the soft, fluffy hair of the tiny child lying fast asleep in his arms. Quite how he'd come to end up sharing his home and his life with the two most beautiful women he'd ever known to exist, he would never know; but he reflected that if he had to count his blessings, he'd be there all year. 

_Home is where the heart is_ , they say, and his heart was very definitely right here. 


End file.
